


Down the Hatch

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, Attempted Drug Assault, Denial of Feelings, Drugged Sylvain, Hangover, Kind of a sketchy situation, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sexuality Crisis, Sickfic, Sylvain does something pretty stupid and pretty noble, Sylvain is in physical pain, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: After the war, Lorenz throws himself into the business of opening Fodlan up to the rest of the world. As much as he might hope for something to disrupt his status quo, Sylvain accompanying him on a trip to Morfis isn't quite what he had in mind. He doesn't expect Sylvain to save him after his attention slips.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33
Collections: FE3H Valentine's Exchange 2021





	Down the Hatch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drosera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drosera/gifts).



> A gift for the Illustrious Frog as part of the Chill Valentine's Exchange!
> 
> Huge thanks to Goop and Bees for brainstorming this with me and Bees for doing a super sharp beta before this went live.
> 
> A note on warnings for this:  
> \- There is an attempted drug assault by a character that is a stranger to both of them. The motives for this are unclear, but there are a lot of different ways it could be read or interpreted, including as an attempted sexual assault.  
> \- There is mention of alcohol.  
> \- Sylvain is drugged  
> \- Portrayal of a hangover  
> \- Discussion and portrayal of a character being somewhat closeted

Although Lorenz had only been in Morfis for a fortnight, he had to admit that it was fashionable. And knew how to throw a proper soiree. All around him stood graceful forms in fine charcoal silks, marked by the occasional splash of serving boys in bright red vests who each carried platters of bite-sized delicacies. Lorenz enjoyed plucking morsels from the silver platters as they passed him, and he was able to quickly rejoin whatever side conversation he was being politely pulled into. It was also growing late into the evening, with alcohol freely flowing from a number of bars set up around the space—each one prepared to mix and arrange any number of beverages.

He’d heard that Morfis valued food and drink highly, but hadn’t been prepared for the enthusiasm and the specificity with which it was brought to every event. Lorenz seldom drank, but as he approached the end of his second beverage, the warmth in his stomach and the slight shine over his eyes brought a kind of sparkling relaxation that he wanted to disappear into. Perhaps he would have a third before retiring for the night.

On some whim, he glanced over to where Sylvain stood, chatting with a merchant’s dainty daughter in a gown with tulle trim.

Lorenz ran his thumb over the cold water forming on the outside of his crystalline glass.

He wasn’t sure why Sylvain had been sent along with him, but it made sense in a way, he supposed. The two of them had grown somewhat familiar, riding ahead during the war and routing enemy troops ahead of advancing mage battalions, so the inspiration likely lay there. Besides, Lorenz admitted that people sometimes read him as an aesthete before a statesman, and sending a rougher sort along with him had its benefits.

Or perhaps Sylvain merely begged for an assignment so he would have an excuse not to return to Gautier yet. Lorenz didn’t know.

All in all, travelling with Sylvain worked out better than he anticipated. For all his tomcat tendencies, Sylvain packed his things simply and moved about the world with the practiced austerity of a trained soldier. He seldom complained, though he could be a tease.

He _could_ be a tease.

As Lorenz downed the last of his drink and handed it to a young man in a red vest, he was approached by a blond, smiling Fodlaner in a red suit and an expensive paisley cape. He recognized the man from some of the meetings earlier in the day—Regis, he believed. Invited there as an interpreter for one of the duchesses from a northern province. As Lorenz understood it, he’d made quite a name for himself trading in textiles.

Notably, he carried two glasses in his hand, one an exact duplicate of the drink Lorenz had just finished.

“Count Gloucester, I was hoping we would get a chance to speak before your departure,” Regis started, his face pleasant. “From what I hear, the commission was rather impressed with you.”

Lorenz smiled at him, and in a moment realized that Regis was at his height—which was significant and rare. “I am merely here to show the world what Fodlan has to offer. You understand, surely.”

Regis gave a soft laugh. “I don’t know that we’ve had much to offer until now.” His face went suddenly serious. “I’ll admit, I was in Brigid and Morfis for most of the unpleasantness.”

Lorenz tried to hide the start he felt in his chest. Was that really what people were calling it? “Yes, well, we are here now.”

“And I for one could not be happier about that fact.” Regis lifted up one of the drinks in his hand, a smile forming under his towy beard. “Drink to your safe journey home, my lord?”

This represented a change from how Regis had behaved throughout the summit, though not an unnatural escalation. He’d been professional and courteous the entire time, but Lorenz did notice the merchant's eyes wandering in his direction at regular intervals. He’d assumed it was simply the novelty of being around someone who shared the same first language, but in the moment, it occurred to Lorenz that Regis had perhaps been looking for an opportunity to speak to him.

Being sought out like this was new, and Lorenz couldn’t help but appreciate the attention. Despite himself, Lorenz felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Graciously, he reached over to accept the glass.

As he did, Sylvain materialized at his side, bumping so forcefully against his shoulder that he nearly dropped it.

“ _Lorenz_ ,” Sylvain said, breathlessly, as he shot a winning smile over at the merchant. By the time he turned to Lorenz, he still showed teeth. “Count Gloucester. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Lorenz frowned. “Oh, did that young lady know where to find me?”

“That’s very funny.” Sylvain gave an affected laugh, and Lorenz frowned. He had a kind of frantic energy Lorenz hadn’t seen in a while, with a forced smile and eyes a little too wild. What chaos was he aiming to cause? “But no, seriously.” He gestured to the drink. “Aren’t you allergic to that?”

Suddenly, Lorenz found himself swimming in both annoyance and confusion. “No? I just had one and it was fine.”

Searching the depths of his mind, Lorenz tried to locate a single moment when he would have admitted to any kind of distress brought on by food. He once mentioned that his appetite sometimes failed him, but could think of no other instances.

“Lorenz.” Sylvain leaned in, dropping his voice. “I _really_ don’t think you should drink that.”

“I didn’t realize you had an admirer,” Regis interrupted with a soft cough into his sleeve. The glittering, jeweled rings on his fingers caught the light as he lifted his hand.

Surprise shot through Lorenz like a javelin. “My companion is giving the wrong impression.”

Sylvain’s eyes were wide as a sharp laugh eked out of him. “I sure am.”

Giving Sylvain his most patient smile, Lorenz supplied, “You’re being rude.” Breaking away, he turned back to Regis. “Thank you for your assistance throughout the week. I’m sure Duchess Leonna was grateful as well.”

Absently, he lifted the drink to his lips.

Sylvain lunged forward, grabbing it from Lorenz’s unexpecting hand, and downed it in a series of large gulps.

More than being consciously aware of his mouth opening and staying open, Lorenz felt the cold air on his tongue, the slight ache in his jaw brought on by sheer _shock_. Next to him, Regis stared with a look that could only be described as absolute horror.

Sylvain finished the drink with a smirk, handing it back to Regis, who accepted the empty glass in stunned silence.

Still wide-eyed, Regis looked back to Lorenz. His face had taken on a distinct pallor. “Safe journeys, my lord,” was all he said before impatiently turning to make his retreat.

“Wait—” Lorenz offered as the merchant turned to leave, quickly disappearing back into the crowd.

Shock turned to fury as Lorenz whirled back to Sylvain.

Sylvain’s face was bright red, and he was half hunched over at the shoulders, looking down at the carpet and pressing a hand to his forehead.

“What,” Lorenz ground out, hoping his tone of voice conveyed that Sylvain had exactly ten seconds to explain himself, “was _that_ about, Gautier?”

“The drink was drugged,” Sylvain said.

A deep chill settled in Lorenz’s stomach, overpowering the warmth of the alcohol from earlier.

“What do you mean?” he asked, dropping his voice.

Sylvain shook his head. “I need to...leave.”

“You can’t mean _alone_.” Lorenz felt like a man flailing and grasping for purchase on a steep cliffside. “To...a healer?”

“No,” Sylvain allowed. “Uh, I don’t think so. I hope not. I’ll just need to sleep it off.”

Sylvain had bent over further, and Lorenz saw the red flush gathering on his neck, jaw, and cheeks, bright enough to rival the shade of his hair. “Wait, Sylvain, what do I do—?”

“Nothing,” Sylvain waved a hand. He motioned off in the direction Regis had fled in. “Maybe don’t accept drinks from...shit…” He trailed off, his eyelids fluttering rapidly.

“Sylvain?” Lorenz asked after him, his voice growing a little higher than he would like and drawing the attention of a few other partygoers, but Sylvain was already staggering away from him into the crowd.

For a heartbeat, Lorenz found himself torn between following Sylvain and going after the merchant. But there was no telling where he’d gone, if he had any accomplices in the crowd, or if he even had anything incriminating on him. With Sylvain making such a scene, he’d probably disposed of any reagents immediately.

With an ignoble curse under his breath, Lorenz pushed through the partygoers, ignoring calls for conversation and well wishing as he scanned the room for red hair in between the ice sculptures and glittering candles of the ballroom.

He found Sylvain flushed and seated against a windowsill.

Lorenz thought of Sylvain as many things—a flirt, an agent of chaos, and a talented cavalier just to name a few. But above all, he thought of Sylvain as sharp. Even when he didn’t seem to be paying attention, he evaluated his surroundings cleanly and read people’s motivations quickly, with a healthy dose of cynicism.

Now, a faint sheen had come over Sylvain’s eyes. People moved around him and his attention tracked them dimly, as if looking for someone to follow, and with it came the expression of someone who did not know where he was or what he meant to do just a moment before. His condition suggested a man that had been drinking all night—not someone who Lorenz hadn’t seen touch a single one.

Lorenz carefully approached Sylvain and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Sylvain swayed when he turned his head, and smiled when he saw Lorenz. “Hey, hey Lorenz. I was trying to...I think I was trying to get back to my room?”

Lorenz swallowed thickly. “Oh...Goddess. This cannot be happening.”

Sylvain leaned back sloppily, hard enough that the back of his skull tapped the crystalline window. “Ow.”

Reaching down to his elbow, Sylvain worked to gather Sylvain up. “We are leaving.”

It took some work and drew a few pairs of eyes—Sylvain was only slightly shorter than Lorenz, and he made up for it in extra muscle—but eventually Lorenz got Sylvain staggered to his feet. Bracing himself, Lorenz swung one of Sylvain’s arms around his shoulders and wrapped his other around Sylvain’s waist to support him. Lorenz made a conscious effort not to think about how dense and warm and _square_ the body against his felt.

Sylvain, barely able to stay on his feet, fell into Lorenz, and he needed to assume a strong fighter’s stance to keep from falling over.

“What’re you doing?” Sylvain slurred, and they really _were_ drawing attention now.

As Lorenz shuffled Sylvain through the crowd, he smiled winningly whenever he made eye contact with a stranger or a familiar face, but he knew that did nothing for all the eyes burning holes in their backs.

Eventually, they staggered free of the crowd, and Lorenz felt as though he could finally breathe, even with Sylvain ready to topple him at any moment.

“Just a little further,” he urged.

“Where’re we going?” Sylvain asked again, his eyes opening and closing as his head lulled. Then: “You smell nice.”

Lorenz almost lost Sylvain on a sharp corner. He was startled, Sylvain ragdolled, and the two of them almost went tumbling into the hedge lining the covered marble walkways.

“I…” Lorenz opened and closed his mouth. “Let’s just get you to your room.”

Next to him, Sylvain stood up a little straighter, his side bumping against the bone of Lorenz’s hip as he managed a few steps that weren’t miserable. Lorenz wasn’t ready for the _smile_ Sylvain gave him, white-toothed and a look Lorenz previously only saw directed towards a conquest.

A flutter gathered in Lorenz’s chest. Just how far away could Sylvain’s room be?

Sylvain’s hand squeezed Lorenz’s shoulder. “Oh, we’re going to my _room_.”

“Yes, where you will _sleep_.” And then hope he woke up afterwards. Lorenz didn’t even know any healers in Morfis, least of all who would be a trustworthy person to bring Sylvain to, and the fear that this was an attempted assassination rather than an abduction remained at the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, they reached the guest hall that hosted both of their temporary quarters. Every door was marked with a little painted bird or bloom, each representing a Morfis duchy or county, and Lorenz remembered Sylvain’s room was the one with the little bluebird on it. Easy to remember; it made him think of Marianne.

At the door, Lorenz started feeling around in Sylvain’s pockets for his key.

Sylvain smirked, and the look he sent Lorenz was positively licentious. “Ooh, you’re getting _frisky_.”

“Please shut up,” Lorenz said. “It has to be here—aha!”

Producing Sylvain’s room key with a triumphant surge in his chest, Lorenz unlocked it and hurried Sylvain inside.

The room was dark, and Lorenz sat Sylvain in a chair while he locked the door. He’d been the target, but there was no telling if it was the act of one man looking to ransom Fodlan’s ambassador or if there were multiple men planning on profiting from the endeavor. Sylvain needed his utmost attention, and he wouldn’t be able to offer that if he was worried about someone coming in through the door.

On that note, he lit the oil lamp then checked the dresser and bathroom. In a fit of paranoia, Lorenz checked under the bed.

Satisfied that they weren’t both about to have their throats cut, Lorenz collected Sylvain again and began to move him towards the bed.

Sylvain, even more disconnected than before, slammed into Lorenz with every movement. Somehow, the trip to the bed was nearly as hard as the entire walk back from the ballroom.

When Sylvain’s knees bumped into the edge, he fell backwards. As he fell, he reached out to clutch at Lorenz. Since he was strong and had a clear weight advantage, Lorenz ended up tumbling after him, barely managing to catch himself with his knee.

Although Lorenz tried to disentangle himself, Sylvain didn’t let go.

Instead, he reached one large hand up to pat at Lorenz’s hair, where his fingers lingered and entangled themselves with a few of his pin-straight locks.

Lorenz went to pry Sylvain’s hand away, when Sylvain said, “I love your hair.”

With his throat as dry as it was, Lorenz may as well have been swallowing sand. “I’m...what?”

“Yer hair.” Sylvain slurred as he struggled to sit up. “I wanted to touch it…’snice.”

Flushing, Lorenz placed his palm to the outside of Sylvain’s. After a little doing, he managed to detach the appealingly rough fingers and free himself. Sylvain watched in mourning, but let his hand fall heavily back to the bed. Next, Lorenz began working to position Sylvain more safely on his stomach.

“ _Handsome_.” The word left Sylvain’s mouth without warning or context.

Pausing, Lorenz turned to look at him. “Yes, Gautier, we all know how handsome you are.”

“Not _me_.” Sylvain sounded offended. “You. _You’re_ handsome.”

With a smile, he reached up to Lorenz’s face once more. “I wanna _kiss_ you.”

Despite the sensation of a birdcage rattling somewhere in Lorenz’s head, he was quick enough to grab Sylvain’s arm this time and push it back down to the sheets.

 _It’s just the drug_ , he told himself. Even as he pushed Sylvain away, he’d fallen onto his face, and Lorenz gently moved Sylvain’s chin to point outward. Garreg Mach being a dry academy somehow never actually kept students from drinking, and Lorenz was sure every graduate had some experience aiding a classmate that hadn’t known their limit.

Just like that, Sylvain fell asleep. His eyes closed, but his breathing remained steady. For the moment. Lorenz didn’t dare ask for more.

Sitting down, Lorenz pressed his face into his palm.

It was going to be a long night.

When Lorenz came back through Sylvain’s door carrying a tray of food, he was glad to see Sylvain quickly reach to pull the wool blanket back over his face and disappear into the heap with a pitiable groan. He had sympathy for a ruthless hangover—and a bit of guilt, perhaps—but ultimately was relieved to see Sylvain well, alive. Had he not woken up on his own, Lorenz wasn’t sure what he would have done. He’d begun stirring late last night after he passed out, which allayed some of Lorenz’s worst fears, but he didn’t realize how much tension he’d been holding until the moment he saw Sylvain conscious and miserable.

As he stepped inside, Lorenz hooked his heel around the corner of the door and closed it behind him. It shut slightly harder than intended, and the blanketed mound flinched when the impact boomed through the tiny space. An irritated but inaudible mumble answered.

“I’m sorry?” Lorenz said as he placed the tray on the side table near the shuttered window. “What was that?”

Sylvain reached one pale hand out from under the heap and gathered up the blanket as if he intended to strangle it before revealing his face. “I said: _not so loud_.”

Ignoring him for the moment, Lorenz evaluated the tray, and with a wave of his hand recharged the heated stones under each plate to keep the food warm. Next, he reached for the teapot and poured a cup—not how things were meant to be done at all, but he felt like Sylvain wasn’t standing on tradition right then. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was kicked in the head by a horse.” There was a considering pause from under the blanket. “Wait, I _wasn’t_ , right?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Uhh.” Sylvain ran a hand forcefully down his face, which seemed unusually wan. “We were at the...yeah, the party.” He lay staring up at the ceiling, palm over his eyes, and his throat fluttered forcefully. “The drink. _Shit_.”

“I suppose it’s good that you remember that much, at least.” Striding across the room, Lorenz placed the teacup on the nightstand with a gentle clatter, and Sylvain looked at him bitterly. “Oh, don’t be like that. It will help with your headache. As will the meat and potatoes, though I would ask you to chance the tea first.”

Sylvain glanced from the tray of food across the room, to the cup of tea, and then back to Lorenz before disappearing under the blanket once more.

Lorenz crossed his arms. “It’s not going to get any _better_ if you don’t do anything to make it better.”

There was another muffled sound—some uttered sentence decayed by the covers.

Lorenz sighed. “I can’t hear you.”

Sylvain briefly surfaced once more. “I said— _leave me alone to die_.”

“Oh, come now.” Lorenz placed his hands on his hips, pondering the dense, sickly wrap of cavalier in front of him. “If you die then half of this beautiful breakfast would go to waste.”

Sylvain emerged, a deep scowl etched on his face as his eyes remained closed. Still, he did not disappear again, which Lorenz considered progress. “I didn’t _ask_ you to get any of that.”

“But you’ll be glad I did.” He gestured towards the platter. “There is bacon, of course. Sausage if you prefer. Potatoes, browned. Pancakes with cut plums on top. But I’d suggest you start with the light biscuits and we'll see if we can work you up to something fattier. And tea, which will help your headache, though as soon as you feel ready we should try water.”

“ _We_?” was the incredulous response. “ _We_ are not going to do anything.” Sylvain’s head lolled back and forth on the pillow, though he winced and seemed to regret the movement. “This is your fault by the way.”

Lorenz froze. An unhappy chill settled in his gut, and he wasn’t sure if the flush that followed was anger or shame. He drummed one set of fingers on his crossed arm. It wasn’t _not_ his fault, all things being fair and equal. He could have been more alert, listened to what alarms Sylvain tried to communicate. However, he was no mind reader.

He swallowed down the little pill of hurt that gathered in his throat and reached for the teacup. “Whatever bait you’re trying to lay, I’m not going to take it, Sylvain. Here, try a sip of this. For the one who had to haul you halfway across the palace?”

There was a pause, during which Sylvain glowered at the teacup and then at Lorenz, who remained undeterred. With another ugly groan, Sylvain shifted onto his stomach and reached for the porcelain, grasping it in delicately around the base as he took the smallest possible sip. He coughed lightly—Lorenz feared he’d puke again—but instead he took another sip, his eyes still squeezed shut. He handed it off again and curled up onto his side.

“What happened after?” he croaked out.

“Not much,” Lorenz said. “You began to look rather warm. You didn’t act _especially_ silly before I realized we needed to leave.” He had the briefest flash of Sylvain pawing at his hair, fingers feverish as his eyes had glazed over, and instantly shoved it aside. “I brought you back to this room. You were a little loud and couldn’t walk in a straight line, but the halls were empty. No one saw.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” With a forceful sigh, Sylvain forced himself upright, or as upright as he could manage with his spine still rigidly curled.

Surprise sparked through Lorenz. “I beg your pardon?”

“You _shouldn’t have done that_ ,” Sylvain reiterated. “There will be rumors.”

Lorenz shook his head, a sick sensation forming in his gut. “ _Nothing_ happened, Sylvain. I swear to you—”

“I _know_. That’s not...that’s not what I meant.” Sylvain’s voice dropped in intensity, softening a fraction. “But people might _say_ something did. You of all people should be aware of that.”

“I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that. And what was I supposed to do?” Lorenz felt himself growing increasingly frantic and incredulous. “Let you leave with whoever tried to drug _me_?”

Sylvain gestured around the room, his arm making a tight, frustrated arc. “That would have been better than letting Fodlan’s ambassador be seen leaving—”

“Don’t be angry at me over some foolish thing you did.” Lorenz felt something snap in his voice. “You could have knocked that drink from my hands and accomplished the same thing, but being _right_ was more important to you than being _safe_.” He was getting worked up, and he should have stopped himself, but onwards the tirade came anyway. “You’re lucky it wasn’t arsenic.”

“At least if it had been arsenic I wouldn’t be having _this conversation_.” Sylvain held his head, still hunched over on the edge of the mattress. “Has anyone ever told you your voice is—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Lorenz said, a little more sharply than he intended. “Whatever you are about to say, I’ve heard it before and I would prefer not to hear it again after spending all night making sure you didn’t stop breathing in your sleep.”

He shoved the teacup into Sylvain’s hands, and let him scramble to pry them off of his skull to accept it. “Here. You hold this.”

Sylvain barely grasped the smooth ceramic in time to keep it from hitting the floor, though a little bit of the liquid did slosh out as his expression became wide-mouthed and dumbfounded.

Lorenz turned his back on Sylvain and took his seat at the small breakfast table, where he selected a warmed plate and began serving himself. He normally avoided such rich dishes, but it had been a long night, and the food truly smelled delicious. That didn’t stop him from wondering if there might be a sleeping salt mixed in with the syrup or a fatal oil spread over the sweet flesh of the plums.

He supposed he’d be thinking about that a while.

When he was halfway through his plate, a heap shuffled into the corner of his vision, still looking haggard, eyes bloodshot. The heap sat down with a thud like falling brick and mortar, and Sylvain propped up his head with his elbows on the table.

“I might be hungry, or I might be sick.”

“Try not to be sick over the food,” Lorenz said, reaching for a fork and knife. “One cake or two?”

Wordlessly, Sylvain held up two fingers, never lifting his eyes. Lorenz admired his ambition.

Taking some initiative for his own fate, Sylvain piled the remaining bacon onto his plate and experimentally took a bite of chicken-apple sausage.

After a tense moment where, presumably, both he and Lorenz waited to see if he would be sick or not, he took another bite. “This’s good. Didn’t expect a Leicester breakfast in Morfis.”

“Even before the war, the Alliance did a fair bit of trade with most of our near neighbors.” Lorenz lifted his shoulders proudly. “The Knights of Seiros weren’t especially known for their navy, and Derdriu is _in_ the ocean. There was only so much they could catch.”

At that, Sylvain looked up at him. “You’re telling me that Derdriu was smuggling and sending unsanctioned diplomats around the known world? Under Rhea’s nose?”

“That makes it sound so illegal.” Lorenz tried and failed not to sound scandalized. “There were certain products that weren’t against any official _suggested_ law or doctrine, per se. Presumably even priests like coffee. And we never sent diplomats, only merchants.” He waved a hand. “Besides, the positioning of both Derdriu and Enbarr near the sea means we’ve always needed our business to be competitive, regardless of which products and ideas we were or weren’t supposed to be exchanging.”

Sylvain snorted, and went through the motions of pouring a staggering amount of syrup onto his pancakes. “So we can thank Alliance merchants for this?”

“On a larger scale, I suppose.” Lorenz took a sip of his own cup of tea to balance the sweetness of the breakfast. “More accurately you should thank the cooks.”

“Obviously.” Sylvain spoke through his mouthful of food, and Lorenz could not control the wasp of irritation that crawled up his spine. Hesitating, Sylvain took another sip from his own cup of tea, and then went for the teapot to pour more.

Absently, Lorenz tapped his fork on his plate, and he didn’t realize what he’d done until the sharpness of the sound sent Sylvain wincing under his forearms again. "Apologies for being short with you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sylvain said. “So, um, what all happened last night?”

Lorenz paused with another bite hovering in the air. “What do you mean?”

Sylvain shrugged. “I don’t remember much after—well, you know. Just want to make sure I didn’t come on to anyone’s daughter. Or son.”

A little pang went through Lorenz at the memory of Sylvain’s palm on his hair, the uninhibited, sloppy smile as the word _handsome_ fell out of his mouth and towards Lorenz’s cursed ears. Lorenz tried to hide the flush in his cheeks behind his teacup once more. “Not that I am aware of.”

He must not have been convincing, because Sylvain paused and sat back, folding his hands in front of him. “I didn’t...come on to _you_ , did I?”

“You weren’t in your right mind.” Embarrassment washed through Lorenz so deeply that he felt it in the bones of his hand. “Please, it’s all best forgotten.”

Sylvain’s mouth was open, awkwardly, and in the light from the window Lorenz could clearly see his greasy but bright red hair, as well as the light, unshaven dusting of copper hair on his strong jaw—

“So...I did come on to you then?” Sylvain ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, Lorenz, I’m sorry—”

“No explanation is required,” Lorenz interjected, trying to keep his voice warm but concise. “As I said, you were not yourself.”

Sylvain watched him for several awkward moments, during which Lorenz made every effort to avoid making eye contact. He didn’t want to lie, but he wished to be having any conversation but this one.

“Lorenz, I mean it,” Sylvain said, “if I said anything inappropriate, or that crossed a line—”

“It was all nonsense.” Lorenz felt a snap coming back into his voice, and he didn’t need a mirror to know his face was now bright red. He didn’t need to listen to Sylvain walk back what he’d said to know he wanted to. Still, he sensed that Sylvain would keep pushing like a proper Faerghan hound. “You simply called me handsome. And said you liked my hair. Neither of which you need to apologize for.”

Sylvain looked back at him, mouth open again. He placed his palms on the table as his face went through a number of expressions, all warped by the hangover. “Lorenz, listen—”

“There’s no need to let me down gently.” Lorenz drummed his fingers on the table—an old habit he was supposed to have broken at fifteen but somehow still emerged to rear its ugly head when he felt cornered. “You said nothing deranged, your hands didn’t wander further than my bangs, and you didn’t mean a word of it. I’d prefer we stop talking about this.”

“I don’t want to make things complicated,” Sylvain continued before his expression flickered. “I did mean it, though.”

Lorenz let out a forceful laugh, and he surprised himself with how derisive it sounded.

Sylvain was staring at him, suddenly looking serious. “I mean, you _are_ handsome, and I do like your hair.”

Silence clung between them tangibly. Lorenz toyed with the fork. Interest twisted in his gut, and he searched Sylvain’s eyes for any hint that he was being teased. Finding none, he nervously laughed before picking at his food. “I...it’s kind of you to say. Sober. Thank you.”

“I’m sure you get that all the time, though.” The smile Sylvain shot him was battered but unmistakable. Lorenz had seen it directed toward any number of maids and men, and it might have made him run from the room if Sylvain had sent it his way under other circumstances.

“That’s generous of you to suggest,” Lorenz responded. “I do care about my appearance, and occasionally I’ve been told that my hair is _pretty_ , but it’s no secret that I received more of my father’s traits than my mother’s.”

Sylvain’s answer was for his smile to flicker, to offer a little shift behind his bleary eyes. “I mean, I don’t know who told you _that_.”

“It’s more implicit than explicit, and I don’t spend my days weeping over my nose.” He felt a kind of warm relief settling in under his shoulders. It was nice to hear, even if he felt some anxious heat collecting under his cravat that he wished he could blame on the humidity. “Sylvain, why did you do it?”

“Do what?” Sylvain took a large bite of potatoes.

“Why did you take my drink from me?”

For a few long moments, Sylvain paused, chewing and gulping down the mouthful before saying, “You said it yourself.”

“Not that. I know you drank it because you’re stubborn, but you could have...just let _me_ do the foolish thing.” That would also have made a scene, he was sure. “As I said, it could very well have been a more deadly poison.”

“Look, I was just sure it wasn’t.” Sylvain shook his head. “As for why, well...think about how that would play out at home. Everyone knows what to expect from Gautier’s heir, but what about Gloucester’s? On Fodlan’s first major diplomatic effort after the war?” He shrugged. “It would have been worse for you than me.”

With a swell of shame, Lorenz looked down at his hands. “That’s _absurd_.”

“It was practical.” Sylvain put down his fork and leaned back in his chair, pulling one hand up to shield his eyes. “I don’t know if I can eat any more.”

“How are you feeling?” Lorenz asked.

Sylvain gave a low groan. “Dizzy—”

Before the rest of the answer was even out—before Lorenz had time to think about what he was doing—he reached across the table to clutch at Sylvain’s wrist with one hand. He pressed his index and middle finger into the divot under the pronounced bones of Sylvain’s thumb.

The pulse he felt was steady, if thunderously strong and a bit too fast, and the feverish heat to Sylvain’s skin surprised him, as if he was going to burn the pads of his fingertips.

Lorenz barely realized what he’d done when it occurred to him that Sylvain hadn’t pulled away. Instead, he looked, unfocused, at Lorenz from in between his fingers. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Am I alive or not?”

Startled, Lorenz dropped Sylvain’s wrist and drew back to his own side of the table. “I’m no healer, but all seems to be in order.” Anxiously, he fiddled with the cuff of his own sleeve. “It’s fast as a rabbit though. Are you still dizzy?”

“No,” Sylvain said. “It was just for a second. You don’t need to mother me.”

“I’m not mothering, I’m _nursing_ ,” Lorenz insisted. “I wouldn’t even want to think about how I would explain you dying like this back at home. Not to mention the paperwork.”

At Sylvain’s weak snort of laughter, Lorenz hesitated. It wasn’t lost on him that all this misery should have been his—likely worse, if Sylvain had truly fixated on the girl in tulle as much as he pretended. “Sylvain...I wanted to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Sylvain replied, his voice cracking from the hard night. “You’re right. I could have just—”

“I wouldn’t have done it the way you did, but you removed me from a dangerous situation that I was fully unaware of.”

“Just...be more careful?” Sylvain offered, his red brows knitting together. “Like you said, it could have been arsenic.”

There was a beat between them. Lorenz twiddling his thumbs while Sylvain stared balefully at his food.

He felt a pressure building under his jaw with the desire to say something. This was not the right time, he knew. Far from it. And the thought sent his heart flying, too. He wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to say anything. Sylvain himself had said he didn’t want to complicate things—but was that because he didn’t think Lorenz wanted to?

“Sylvain,” Lorenz started, “that wasn’t all you said.”

Sylvain watched him closely. “What else did I say?”

“That you wanted to...kiss me.” Lorenz’s voice went quiet as he found the last words. He felt ridiculous, and his cheeks burned.

Sylvain’s eyebrows went up curiously. “Do _you_ want me to kiss you?”

A damning silence followed. Lorenz caught himself staring at Sylvain’s mouth, and cursing the way his heart raced. No, this wasn’t happening.

Sylvain licked his lips and continued softly, “Do you want to kiss _me_?”

In a flash, Lorenz was up from his chair, headed for the door.

“Wait, Lorenz!”

Breathing heavily, Lorenz was nearly at the door when Sylvain gently caught his wrist.

When he spoke, Lorenz's voice sounded fast and panicky. “I should never have told you—”

“ _Lorenz_ ,” Sylvain interrupted with the smallest frown. “You don’t have to let me down gently, either. Or explain. I was the one acting like a fool last night.”

“You don’t _understand_.” Lorenz planted his palms firmly against the edge of the small table, his heart racing. Casting his gaze about, as if looking for an escape route or really just any place he could retreat to where Sylvain couldn’t see him. His solitary goal for this trip, other than their obvious political objectives, had been for this not to happen. “I would _want_ to, but...”

“Then why don’t you?” Sylvain was leaning closer now, arm against the doorframe. Even the uneasy distance of his face couldn’t undercut the quiet intensity of his voice—and _damn it_ , he was so near. Lorenz could know for sure, and put this all to rest, and—

He lunged forward, his hand going to the back of Sylvain’s head and holding him there as he pressed their lips together, and the shock he felt went through his collarbone and kept going. Sylvain’s lips were dry and cracked, but he kissed back, tilting his jaw forward to meet Lorenz as he squeezed his own eyes shut.

Lorenz didn’t know what he’d imagined or hoped for, but it wasn’t this. It rocked him to his core, calling back every one of Sylvain’s cockiest smiles. With it came a wave of dread.

But also a warmth building under his belt, one that urged him forward to clutch at Sylvain’s shoulder with his other hand—

Sylvain broke away, leaving Lorenz to dizzily kiss the air. He stayed there, wondering when he’d started breathing so heavily. “Sylvain, I...”

The grin Sylvain gave him was absolutely rakish. “You should have said something a long time ago.” Yet, he broke off with a series of unfocused blinks.

Uncomfortably, Lorenz bit into his lower lip. He didn’t realize, but he’d fallen against the door. “I understand if you don’t wish to again.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. This is going to be fun.” Sylvain’s hand fell back to his temple. “But if we go any further right now, I think I _will_ bleed into my brain.”

“Of course!” In a wash of surprise, Lorenz pressed harder against the door. It would be embarrassing to admit that he’d forgotten Sylvain’s distress in his fluster, right? “Would you like to try food again? Perhaps some water would settle.”

Sylvain cringed at the mention of food. “I could try.” He attempted that rakish smile again, but it was softer, more genuine. “Hey, Lorenz, I can’t say I’m not glad we had that talk.”

Lorenz raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“Please be more careful next time.”


End file.
